Contents and authorship

Written in a simple, moving, and straightforward style in the form of a diary, the book combines irenicprayers urging the forgiveness of Charles's executioners with a justification of royalism and the King's political and military programme that led to the Civil War.

It is by no means certain that Charles wrote the book. After the Restoration, John Gauden, bishop of Worcester, claimed to have written it. Scholars continue to disagree about the merits of this claim, though assuming that if Gauden wrote it, he had access to Charles's papers when he did so. Jeremy Taylor is also said to have had a hand in its revision, and to be the source of its title; an earlier draft bore the name Suspiria Regalia, the "Royal Sighs."

Some later editions of the Eikon Basilike contained a sworn statement by William Levett, Esq., longtime courtier and groom of the bedchamber to the King, that Levett had witnessed Charles writing the text during the time that Levett accompanied him in his imprisonment on the Isle of Wight.[1][2] A witness to the King's execution, Levett later helped transport the King's body back to Windsor Castle for burial.

Whoever wrote the Eikon Basilike, its author was an effective prose stylist, one who had partaken deeply of the solemn yet simple eloquence of Anglican piety as expressed in Cranmer'sBook of Common Prayer. The end result is an image of a steadfast monarch who, while admitting his weaknesses, declares the truth of his religious principles and the purity of his political motives, while trusting in God despite adversity. Charles's chief weakness, it says, was in yielding to Parliament's demands for the head of the Earl of Strafford; for this sin, Charles paid with his throne and his life. Its portrait of Charles as a martyr invited comparison of the King to Jesus.

The pathos of this dramatic presentation made it a master stroke of Royalist propaganda. The book was quite popular despite official disapproval during the Protectorate and the Restoration; it went into 36 editions in 1649 alone. In 1657 it even appeared in musical form, with a verse rendering by Thomas Stanley (author) and music by John Wilson (composer). The musical setting blended the austere style of the metrical psalter, favoured by the Puritans, with fashionable (and Catholic) instrumental accompaniment provided by an organ, theorbo, or another such continuo instrument. Because of the favourable impression the book made of the King, Parliament commissioned John Milton to write a riposte to it, which he published under the title Eikonoklastes ("The Icon-Breaker") in 1649. Milton's response sought to portray the image of Charles, and the absolute monarchy he aspired to, as idols, claiming a reverence due only to God, and therefore justly overthrown to preserve the law of God. This theological counterattack failed to dislodge the sentimental narrative of the Eikon itself from public esteem.

Representation of Charles as Martyr in the Text

Richard Helgerson suggests that Eikon Basilike represents the culmination of the representational strategies of Charles’ immediate Tudor and Stuart predecessors: the textual absolutism of King James and the "iconic performativity" of Elizabeth.[3] In addition to the way it recapitulates previous modes of royal representation, Helgerson notes a certain affinity between the textual aesthetics of the "King’s Book" and those of the Counter-Reformation: "Eikon Basilike drew on a set of culturally conditioned responses against which the new culture of print was defining itself, responses that had previously served Elizabeth and Shakespeare and that even then were serving Counter-Reformation Catholicism. This unbookish—indeed anti-bookish—book thus turned print against itself." [4] In Helgerson’s view, Eikon Basilike draws upon devotional impulses that both precede and supersede the dominance of the print-obsessed Protestant scripturalism ascendant at the moment of Charles’ execution.

Quotation

I would rather choose to wear a crown of thorns with my Saviour, than to exchange that of gold, which is due to me, for one of lead, whose embased flexibleness shall be forced to bend and comply to the various and oft contrary dictates of any factions, when instead of reason and public concernments they obtrude nothing but what makes for the interest of parties, and flows from the partialities of private wills and passions. I know no resolutions more worthy a Christian king, than to prefer his conscience before his kingdoms.

1893 text

There is a beautiful copy of “The Workes of King Charles the Martyr, and Collections of Declarations, Treaties, &c.” (2 vols. folio, 1662), in the Pepysian Library, with a very interesting note in the first volume by Pepys (dated October 7th, 1700), to the effect that he had collated it with a copy in Lambeth Library, presented by Dr. Zachary Cradock, Provost of Eton. “This book being seized on board an English ship was delivered, by order of the Inquisition of Lisbon, to some of the English Priests to be perused and corrected according to the Rules of the ‘Index Expurgatorius.’ Thus corrected it was given to Barnaby Crafford, English merchant there, and by him it was given to me, the English preacher resident there A.D. 1670, and by me as I then received it to the Library at Lambeth to be there preserved. Nov. 2, 1678. ‘Ita testor’, Zach. Cradock. — From which (through the favour of the most Reverend Father in God and my most honoured Friend his Grace the present Archbishop of Canterbury) I have this 7th of October, 1700, had an opportunity given me there (assisted by my clerk, Thomas Henderson), leisurely to overlook, and with my uttermost attention to note the said Expurgations through each part of this my own Book.” Whole sentences in the book are struck through, as well as such words as Martyr, Defender of the Faith, More than Conqueror, &c.

This text comes from a footnote on a diary entry in the 1893 edition edited by Henry B. Wheatley.

1
Annotation

Melvyn Bragg and guests discuss the Divine Right of Kings. In Shakespeare’s Macbeth, the character Malcolm describes the magical healing powers of the king:

“How he solicits heaven,Himself best knows; but strangely-visited people,All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,The mere despair of surgery, he cures;Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,Put on with holy prayers...”

The idea that a monarch could heal with his touch flowed from the idea that a king was sacred, appointed by God and above the judgement of earthly powers. It was called the Divine Right of Kings. The idea resided deep in the culture of 17th century Britain affecting the pomp of the Stuart Kings, the writings of Milton and Shakespeare and the political works of John Locke. It is a story that involves witches, regicide, scrofula, Macbeth, miraculous portraits and some of the greatest poetry in the English language.

With Justin Champion, Professor of the History of Early Modern Ideas at Royal Holloway, University of London; Tom Healy, Professor of Renaissance Studies at Birkbeck College, University of London; Clare Jackson, Lecturer and Director of Studies in History at Trinity Hall, Cambridge